


Hiding in Jericho

by saraid



Series: Knights Errant [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 22:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3994537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraid/pseuds/saraid





	Hiding in Jericho

"Removing the border toll will encourage more Chipparl to cross over, and thus enhance trade." Speaking with his usual calm, Jedi Master and favored negotiator

Qui-Gon Jinn paused to sip his glass of local wine, stifling the urge to grimace; flat and bitter, it was a far cry from his favorite Golden Alderaan vintage. "You speak first in the morning, the Chipparl would see it as a point in your favor if you bring it up for them."

The Consul Third of the Sirran ruling body seemed to be taking the Jedi's words in, weighing them carefully. They were a cautious people, the Sirran, much unlike their continental neighbors the Chipparl, who made a national pastime of exuberance and risk-taking. The two peoples, branches of the same evolutionary tree, had survived their early wars and armed truces and were now, after nearly a hundred cycles of uneasy peace, coming to the table to negotiate their first real planetary peace and trade agreement. The Republic Senate hoped that this would lead to off-planet trade and open planetary markets, making resources available to the Republic.

"We depend on the revenue of the border toll for a great deal of our infrastructure costs." Consul Third commented at length. 

"The Chipparl are objecting to the application of the toll, that only Chipparl are charged for coming into Sirrana and not Sirrans returning from Chipparlo." Another sip, and then Qui-Gon stiffened. It would have been scarcely noticed by many races, but the Consul Third spoke up immediately.

"What disturbs you, Ka'Jedi?" The honorific did not translate well into basic but Qui-Gon had a good working vocabulary of Sirran'toc and knew that it spoke of him as both a warrior and a friend, a remnant of the military legacy of this people. It honored him.

"I - excuse me a moment." Turning his back on the Consul, Qui-Gon looked directly at the door that led into the spacious chamber. It was nearly hidden by flowering vines, the scent of which filled the air pleasantly. The Sirran considered growing things to be blessed and so the insides of their buildings and dwellings hosted almost as many plants as the outside.

The door opened and a figure, wearing the cream and chocolate of a Jedi Knight, ducked under the low archway, then straightened, face obscured by a few dangling leafy vines. 

Qui-Gon Jinn did not need to see his face, though. The impact of his presence was enough. That place in his mind that rested quiescent flared to life now and he was overwhelmed by a wash of mischievous mirth and plain happiness.

He took a half-step, recovered himself.

"Ka'Jedi?" Consul Third sounded concerned, his two-toned nasal wheeze tightening on the name. When Qui-Gon turned to him again, taking a rather large swallow of wine, the Sirran's scales had flushed to a darker brown, indicating his worry.

"It seems that I have an unexpected visitor." Forcing relaxation, seeking calm, or the semblance of it, Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's approach, heard him greeting his hosts and various guests as he walked. "My former apprentice, R'ta Kenobi." He gave Obi-Wan the rank equivalent of Knight.

"A surprise is the greatest of all gifts." Consul Third grimaced in a friendly fashion.

"Often it is, and this is most welcome." Another swallow of wine and the glass was empty, which meant he wouldn't have to drink anymore of it, thankfully. "We have not seen each other in many months. I am pleased he found a way to see me." 

"Then we will continue this discussion on the morrow. I will give your words thought." With a wave of his upper left hand, Consul Third dismissed Qui-Gon, scales paling to a cream that almost matched the Jedi's robes. "Family is as important to you as it is to us, yes?"

"The Order is my family and Obi-Wan my closest relative in it." Qui-Gon answered, knowing the Sirran would understand.

Obi-Wan was definitely family. His meandering approach paused when his former Master took leave of the diplomat and strode directly to him. Slowly, retaining his dignity, but it was clear to anyone in the room who knew to look that he was not as calm as he appeared.

"Obi-Wan." Stopping a few feet short of contact, he folded his arms into his sleeves and nodded his head.

"Master Qui-Gon." A nod in return, with a respectful half-bow.

"You are a long way from the Korelian Sector."The younger man's last mission had been as bodyguard to the legal heir of a planetary throne, disputed after his father's death. From the two brief notes that had reached Qui-Gon, the danger had been serious and the threat immediate.

"Prince J'Hama was crowned three days ago at dawn. A condition of the treaty he signed with the factions was that I - 'The Jedi' -" He grinned swiftly, "-get the heck off their planet. Laughter danced in his grey-green eyes.

"And leave the Prince unprotected, of course." Knowing that this was not the case, Qui-Gon allowed himself a small smile.

"Indeed not." The cultured voice sounded of royalty, one of the reasons Obi-Wan often received such assignments. He fit in well with courts and kings.

"Unbeknownst to Prince J'Hama, his newest secretary - chosen for him by his advisory board - is Master D'Tomo himself. The Prince will be protected and the treaty is safe."

Qui-Gon knew that Master D'Tomo was one of only two Jedi that had been born on that planet, and had been living there for the past two years as a trade consultant, waiting until he was needed. The planet was an important one because of its strategic location and the Senate needed that government stable at all costs. Obi-Wan's presence had been as much a distraction as protection for the Prince.

"And you are here." Dropping his voice to a more intimate tone, Qui-Gon tugged at the link between them, teasingly.

"And I am here." The younger Jedi agreed, husky now. "For twelve hours only, my master. I am due on Riserva Tull two days hence, charged with locating and capturing a band of terrorists."

"Twelve hours only. How did you manage to fit me in?"

As one the two men turned and began walking toward the door. Greetings were made and leave-takings spoken, all fifteen Consuls making it a point to speak to their Jedi negotiator.

"I bribed my pilot." A silver laugh ran along the link like a flame. "No, really. I'm taking a spacer because of the rush and he's been having problems with his recreational delivery system..."

"His RDS? And you agreed to repair it for him?" With a snort Qui-Gon gave his opinion on that. An RDS was a complex interactive holoprogram built for a single purpose; to provide its owner with sexual relief in whatever form they desired. Opening the door, Qui-Gon ducked low to pass beneath it, brilliant purple flower petals tickling his nose.

"I offered. If he could push the hyperdrive enough to get me a layover here. It's amazing what he convinced that engine to do."

"Would early arrival benefit your mission?" The Order and the Code had to come first.

"As I judge it, no. The terrorists have ceased their attacks to date and what passes for planetary government is still bickering about whether I should catch the or not. It seems to me there's something else going on there, but arriving early isn't going to get them to make up their minds faster."

"But you are here without Council's approval." A touch of weary sadness tinged the words, but no condemnation.

"They would never have approved, Master." Side-by-side, strolling through a narrow hall lined with large windows that filled it with the darkening blue light of the planet's class-G star. Obi-Wan touched Qui-Gon's hand with his own and his master grasped it, held it tightly.

"I know." The older man sighed. "I fear the risk you take." 

"The risk we take." The correction was soft. Through the link emotions ran unchecked, things that had never and would never be put into words.

The sadness dominated. That they were not allowed to be together, or even supposed to want to. Anger at the unfairness of it, the expectation that Jedi live alone, with no close connection to any individual. Qui-Gon's disgust with a Council so bound with tradition that it was strangling itself and the Order it governed.

During the last few years of Obi-Wan's apprenticeship, when he had been more than a Padawan but less than a Knight, both had been aware of their feelings for one another, and the fact that they were returned. After they faced and defeated the Sith together, denying those feelings felt akin to a slow death. But Jedi did not form romantic entanglements with other Jedi. It was considered distracting, the potential bond would be overpowering and leave them open to the Dark Side through a number of avenues; passion, lust, fear, jealousy.

"It's the right path for us." Obi-Wan stated as they turned a corner and Qui-Gon led him to another low door.

"I know."

Well did he know, having resisted it for so long. When loneliness and desire had finally won out over reason and control, it had been the single most powerful experience of his life. Sexually active since the age of fifteen, encouraged, as all Jedi were, to ease his body and keep it healthy - and reproduce, if possible - he had never felt anything close to what Obi-Wan made him feel. Sometimes he even thought the Council correct in their stance; it *was* overwhelming and it could become an obsession, if he or Obi-Wan allowed it to. 

For now they had balance, carefully maintained. Their link lay dormant as they kept distance and civility between them. They hid it well, there had been no suspicious probes from the Council and they still shared the same assigned quarters on Coruscant that had been thiers when they were master and padawan, even when they happened to be on-planet at the same time.

But when they were together - when there was no one to see, or hear or feel them – they were, Qui-Gon admitted to himself, more than slightly crazed. Perhaps it was always knowing that this could be the last time...

Inside the room. Bed a pallet on the floor, ceiling so low that Qui-Gon sat right away, pulling Obi-Wan down with him.

"Force, I've missed you." Cradled that gently smirking face in both hands, vaguely missing the swing of a padawan braid but enjoying the heaviness of chin-length red-gold silk...and the taste of Obi-Wan as Qui-Gon smothered what was clearly going to be an impudent response with his lips and tongue.

Frantic fingers danced over his clothes, the younger man moaning into his mouth as he was kissed hard, possessively, determined to strip the older as quickly as possible. And quick it was - almost before Qui-Gon was aware of it Obi-Wan was pulling away, hands tearing at his own clothing, then the slender, silken body tackled his, pushing him down, and he allowed the passion to surge, to take him, just for a moment.

But to lose control was to lose everything. They were Jedi - if they broadcast this, flung it out into the ether of the Force, someone somewhere would certainly catch it. Study it, interpret it: and then their secret would be known. Shame would follow, and sanctions, and misery.

So, control. With an effort, possible only because of decades spent controlling himself in every circumstance imaginable, he regrouped. Drew the passion in, leashed it.

Rolled Obi-Wan over, straddled the backs of strong thighs, held him down, kissing the rippling, sweat-sheened shoulders, feasting on arched neck and spine.

"This, Obi, this way?" He gasped the question, got the answer he expected. 

"Yes, Qui, more."

More, more, always more, always Obi-Wan wanted more, and whenever he could Qui-Gon gave it, joyously and passionately. Later they would make love again, slow and sweet, but the first joining after a separation was always wild and hungry. 

Preparation took long moments, control tested to the limits. Sometimes Qui-Gon wondered if it was as hard for other Jedi, if they longed for their partners and lovers the way he ached for his. A bone-deep perpetual ache that only eased when Obi-Wan was near, when the master knew he could reach out and touch him whenever he chose.

They had never discussed it but he felt that Obi-Wan suffered the same pain, and sometimes cursed the Council and the traditions that kept them apart.

But not now. Living in the moment, as he had struggled to teach this student, Qui-Gon used the oil he kept by the bed - for his hands and feet - and first two fingers and then three to loosen the tight passage. He could have used the Force, had used it in the past, when they were both too desperate to wait, but given the chance he preferred to touch - to use his body, his hands, to make his lover ready for him.

Bucking up against him, thighs quivering with tension, Obi-Wan moaned repeatedly. His hands clenched the blankets to either side and he muscles of his ass clenched and released rhythmically as he tried to draw the three fingers in deeper. Qui-Gon ducked his head and licked around the digits, sucking at reddened skin, drawing a near-shriek of pleasure and the moans became words again.

"Please, Qui, enough, enough!"

Knowing well that he did not mean he'd had enough, Qui-Gon used his free hand to pump his own cock several times, slicking it, bringing it to full and painful hardness, then he sat back on his knees and used both hands to pull Obi-Wan's hips back.

"Are you ready, Obi?" Always ask, always had to ask, to be sure. Never take him, or this, for granted. His voice was so harsh he wondered that the words could be understood, the effort to shield them was mounting and he knew it was about to get worse.

"Please, Qui." Obi-Wan's voice, low and sweet, pleaded. "Please."

Given permission, Qui-Gon rose again, hands spreading the cheeks of Obi-Wan's ass wide, and thrust home smoothly. In and in, until he groin pressed firmly to Obi-Wan's ass and the younger man howled with delight, the link between them bursting into full awareness, their minds laid open to each other.

"More!" The shout drove Qui-Gon to thrust, and thrust again, the rhythm instinctive, automatic, ingrained in muscle memory from more than a decade of fighting and training together. Thrust and parry, thrust and lunge, both took their turns as they translated the dance of battle into the dance of love.

Moaning louder, humping back into each thrust, Obi-Wan braced on his arms, his cock hanging down, spitting and drooling, swollen with need, but Qui-Gon didn't reach for it, did not need to touch it. He kept the rhythm, pounding into his lover, unable to concentrate enough to place his strokes carefully, but he didn't need to. Obi-Wan would tell him what to do when it was time.

Time was the goal. To make it last as long as they could, the lurching, driving dance that combined love and lust so perfectly. Time slowed to the second, each nuance sought and felt, each stroke unique and precious, each sound sucked up hungrily. Then muscles started to protest, arms shook with fatigue, knees cramped. They were getting close, too close, the finish was coming. 

"More, more, more..." Obi-Wan chanted and groaned, unable to reach to touch himself, he'd be squashed flat by Qui-Gon's thrusts if he did, but he needed... "More, more, Qui, do it, do it!"

With his own moan Qui-Gon slid his hands from the hips they held, fanning the long fingers out over sweaty clenched skin, and simultaneously sank both big thumbs into Obi-Wan's ass alongside his own cock, stretching and filling, giving that extra touch of sensation to them both, making the younger man full, too full, making him lose the rhythm and writhe, impaled on Qui-Gon's cock and thumbs, shuddering from the overload of sensation. He squirmed and twisted, deep animal sounds pulled from his belly, body flushed and dripping. Those  
sounds settled at the base of Qui-Gon's spine and made him grunt spastically.

With the hardness of his thumbs rubbing his oversensitized cock Qui-Gon kept pumping, hips and torso rolling with the movement, thrusting harder and deeper, knowing it was coming, anticipating the release...

Then Obi-Wan came, his ass clamping down on Qui-Gon so tightly he was briefly in pain, then the rippling convulsions of those interior muscles sucked his own orgasm from him and he shuddered with Obi-Wan, both of them silent in ecstasy, breath and thought and reason ripped from them.

A small part of the master's mind remembered, remembered that he had to keep the shields up, had to protect them, and it was harder than ever before. The Force wanted to share this, to share in it, and he denied it this one thing and the Force objected.

The backlash caught him sharply, in the process of falling onto his lover, but he'd been expecting it, this was part of the price, and he had Obi-Wan's arms around him and Obi-Wan's mouth on his and Obi-Wan's body pressed to his and the pain was insignificant. 

"Master, lover, father, friend..." Obi-Wan whispered, petting him through the aftershocks, the combination of pleasure and pain causing the shudders to continue for long minutes. "Qui, just Qui, always Qui, I love you."

"Love you - too." The words were panted, short and harsh, and the mouth that covered his own offered air and the sweetest taste in the republic - unfiltered Obi-Wan. It drowned out the aftertaste of Sirran wine and brought a contentment that couldn't be compared to any other sensation.

A heaved sigh, a last gasp, and stillness descended upon them. Resting, quiet, minds exchanging information at ten times the speed of speech, bodies languid, lethargic in the aftermath.

"It's more than life itself." Some great time later Obi-Wan found the voice to speak, disturbing the air that hung around them.

"It's everything." Qui-Gon agreed, rolling to his side with extraordinary effort and gathering the younger man close, nuzzling his face into the crook of neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. "You're everything." He mumbled, the words muffled by his position and the feeling of blasphemy that accompanied them.

"We're everything." Clever fingers drifted through tangled grey-streaked hair, tenderly unknotting and smoothing.

They were. And this, in all likelihood, was why it was forbidden. When they were together, soul-to-soul, they did not need the Order. They did not need the Council. And, most damming, they did not need the Force. 

Only each other.

Reason enough to damn them.

More than reason to continue.

There would be no sleep for the next few hours. Neither of them would dream of wasting their precious time together in dreams when reality was so powerful. Qui-Gon would suffer through his duties unrested, making peace with the Force and using it to strengthen himself, and Obi-Wan would probably catch up on his sleep while his clever spacer pilot flew the ship, the ship that would take him away from Qui-Gon, yet again.

Until the next time.


End file.
